


Not What I Came Here For

by defying3reason



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Depression, M/M, Oblivious Enjolras, UST, brief mentions of self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-12 18:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2121030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defying3reason/pseuds/defying3reason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire once more breaks a promise to his friends, and Enjolras stops by his apartment to reprimand him. Angst, self-pity, and obliviousness follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I banged this out during a few free minutes here and there at work. At the moment it's unedited so there are probably typos.

Grantaire was having a rough day, so instead of dragging himself out to one of his upitty activist friends' haunts he remained in his apartment, curled up on the cheap futon he'd salvaged from the side of the road and wallowing in his own filth. He had an ancient Power Rangers comforter wrapped around him that was puzzling him a bit; he couldn't remember if he'd snagged it from the thrift store or if he'd acquired it from one of his friends...hell, there was even a distinct possibility it was the same one he'd owned as a child. It was certainly old enough.

Grantaire's attention was pulled from his contemplation of the faded old blanket by an insistent knocking at his door. It really was a particularly bad day though. His depression was definitely getting the best of him, so at first Grantaire only stared at the door in a lethargic haze. Finally it occurred to him to answer it, and he pulled himself from the futon, inscrutable Power Rangers blanket and all, to do so.

Enjolras was standing on the other side, looking particularly pissed off but very handsomely so. Today the hard blue gaze most closely resembled the tube of azure blue oil paint Grantaire favored when he was doing maritime paintings. The last time he'd seen the young man his eyes had more closely resembled one of the lighter acrylics...perhaps the cerulean? Yes, that had been it. The cerulean.

Enjolras' scowl only deepened the longer Grantaire vapidly gazed at him, contemplating his coloring and bone structure. If Grantaire had been feeling better, he might have realized that Enjolras was misconstruing his actions and assuming that Grantaire was mentally undressing him. It wasn't an entirely unfair conclusion to jump to; Grantaire certainly leered at Enjolras often enough, especially once he reached the warm and fuzzy point of his inebriation. But more often than not he was appreciating Enjolras' almost freakish good looks from the perspective of an artist who couldn't switch that kind of appreciation off. Enjolras' perfectly proportioned body and aesthetically pleasing features fascinated him.

At the moment, Enjolras' much loved features and perfect proportions were decidedly imposing, and that was even before he imperiously crossed his arms over his chest. "Where have you been? Please tell me the answer isn't that you were parked in front of your television from whatever time you happened to wake from your intoxicated stupor until this very moment."

Grantaire actually hadn't slept the night before. The television had indeed been his companion for much of the day though. Grantaire rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand, as though that would help clear the fog from his brain. "Huh? What are you even doing here?"

"Wondering why you weren't at the Musain tonight like you were supposed to be, and where the hell our posters and fliers are."

Oh. Well no wonder he was pissed. Shit, Grantaire _knew_ he'd been avoiding something important other than homework and paying his bills. He stepped aside to let Enjolras in, then began the shuffle through the main room towards his bedroom. His foot caught on the trailing edge of the comforter as he walked, and with his awareness as shot as it was he would have face planted on the floorboards if Enjolras hadn't swiftly reached out and caught him.

Even with that strong arm braced protectively around his back, it still took Grantaire a moment to get his feet properly under him again. Although to be fair, he didn't exactly want to stand under his own power and relinquish the sense of comfort and safety that came with the not-quite embrace. Not to mention the false feeling of companionship...even in large groups lately, Grantaire had been so fucking lonely.

"Grantaire, are you...are you okay?" Enjolras asked, annoyance quickly switching to concern as he watched Grantaire shrug off the blanket that had so traitorously tripped him. He tossed it onto the futon and angrily trudged to his room without acknowledging that Enjolras had spoken. Enjolras followed after him. His annoyance returned in full force when he saw the half-started projects scattered all over the carpet. "You didn't finish a single flier, did you? Grantaire, if we have any hope of actually using them we need to get them to the copier _tomorrow_. This is completely unacceptable."

"Apologies. I did try." Grantaire gave a weak gesture that nonetheless swept over the contents of the tiny room. Nearly every surface was littered with drafts of the promised fliers and posters for his friends' demonstration. He'd even gotten past basic sketching and line art on a couple and started coloring them before he gave up. Grantaire got down on his hands and knees and started searching out those, thinking he might be able to quell some of Enjolras' anger with him by showing how far his good intentions had carried him before the uselessness inherent to him got in the way. Enjolras didn't have the patience for even that humble gesture and swept from the room in a huff.

Grantaire crumbled the half-finished drawing that happened to be in his hand. He thought about finishing one of the drafts right then and there, or possibly spending what would likely be another sleepless night finishing the task and then bringing them to the copy shop himself in the morning, but then he'd have to leave the apartment and he was not feeling up to that. Plus his hands weren't really steady enough for artwork, even artwork as simple as what the posters and fliers required.

Enjolras was still there when Grantaire made his way out of his bedroom. Grantaire peered at him in some surprise, then continued on to the futon as though there weren't a furious activist looming over him. He pulled his traitorous blanket around him and faced the television.

"So that's it? You're just going to return to your drunken stupor and watch cartoons without any care for how much your sloth has inconvenienced us? I know you don't give a damn about our causes or about me and my feelings, but I'd thought our friends were mutual. I'm not the only one you're letting down you know. Courfeyrac and the others make excuses for your carelessness and selfishness, but at the end of the day you've still hurt them."

Like he didn't already know that. Grantaire pulled the blanket tighter around him and leaned closer to the television. "Are you done?"

"You don't even care, do you?"

"I tried." He hadn't finished any of his assignments for the week, either, what with his attention being divided between the intimidating, impossible projects.

"It doesn't look like you tried very hard. You're a capable artist when you choose to be. I'd think slapping some text and an image or two on a striking background wouldn't pose much of a challenge."

"You would think that, wouldn't you. I tried to help and I failed, which though irritating you greatly doesn't exactly seem shocking. Can you leave it alone?" Grantaire's gaze didn't waver from the television so he didn't see what kind of impact his plea had on his uninvited guest. All he could really gather was that Enjolras didn't leave, so he assumed his wishes had once again been ignored.

"Grantaire, sit up."

"Don't give me fucking orders in my house."

"Will you please sit up and look at me?" He sounded unnerved, which suited him about as poorly as indecision or hesitation. Against all inclination, Grantaire sat up. He even shut off the TV. The Power Rangers blanket slid from his shoulders and pooled around his lap.

"What do you want from me, Enjolras? I know I fucked up. I apologized for that. I wish I was capable of being useful to you but I'm...I'm just me." He silently prayed that Enjolras wouldn't make him elaborate on that.

"I know. I shouldn't expect you to expend effort on something you obviously don't care about."

Grantaire winced. "It's not that I don't care...I mean, no, I don't give half a shit about the rally as anything more than a social occasion. But I care about you guys. I don't like being the walking fuck up of the group."

"You make it sound like there's only the one." Enjolras sat down next to him, a biting smirk on his pretty lips. "Bahorel's misplaced enthusiasm is almost as problematic as your apathy. The wanton destruction of property is starting to become an issue. And then there's the scorned women chasing after us because of Courfeyrac."

"Hm." Grantaire lowered his gaze. His hands were resting in his lap, just above the soft material of the worn old blanket. He started fidgeting with a hangnail, and the anxious action transformed into picking at the various little paper cuts on his hand with his jagged left pointer fingernail. Enjolras saw, and grabbed his hands.

"What are you doing?" Enjolras snapped.

"I could ask you the same. Enjolras, normally I crave your attention like nothing else, but tonight I am not up to it. You know I've failed, you've rubbed my face in it. Isn't that enough? Why are you still here?"

If anything, Enjolras looked more confused. "You're always up for mocking me...aren't you?"

Grantaire shook his head. "I like the occasional period of retreat between humiliations and rebukes."

"That's not what I...Grantaire, if you truly wish to be left alone then I'll leave. You seem like you need company though. I could give Courfeyrac a call and see if he'd come over. Or I could give Bossuet a call. He usually puts you in a good mood, doesn't he?"

"Enjolras-"

"I'm sorry, it's just, I've never seen you like this before and it's starting to worry me."

Grantaire stopped picking at his cuts. His fidgeting switched to rubbing his thumb in a small circle against his wrist. "Nobody's really seen me like this before. I try to avoid people as much as possible when I'm like this. It's..." Embarrassing as fuck, plus it was actually physically hard to get himself out of bed when these kinds of moods came up. That was the only reason he wasn't drunk; he'd been going back and forth between anxiety and lethargy for long enough to have gone through his small stock and couldn't get himself to leave even to procure more. Not that he could afford another visit to the liquor store that week...

"Are you getting treatment?"

"Hm?"

"For your depression," Enjolras elaborated. "You're seeing a professional about this, aren't you?"

"I'm self-medicating. Hasn't that been obvious?"

"No it hasn't." Enjolras frowned at him. "I'd just assumed you were an alcoholic asshole."

"Oh, I'm very much that," Grantaire assured him. "But I'm a medically depressed alcoholic asshole. I'm sure I've got other potential diagnoses in there too. But I saw a therapist when I was in high school, and that motherfucker only made things worse, so..."

"So you gave up," Enjolras finished. "Just like you do with everything."

Grantaire met his gaze. "Don't. I'll meet your oversimplifications with cynicism and wit on any other subject, but do not lecture me on this. You have no fucking clue what I'm dealing with."

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, something not quite scorn but close flashing across his handsome features. Soft-scorn, Grantaire supposed. "Perhaps not, when it comes to your specific situation, but don't delude yourself into thinking you're the only person who suffers any kind of burden. Everyone suffers, but some meet their challenges better than others."

"I see. Please, after I've already unwillingly opened up about how I'm at the vulnerable and shitty point in my cycle, please, keep judging me and making this my fault. I don't feel like shit enough already so by all means, heap that judgment right on."

"Grantaire, the difference is that some people have more support than others. You have a support system, you know. You might lean on us a little when you're feeling this way. I'm not the best at cheering people up or bringing them out of whatever this is, that's certainly true, but Bossuet makes you laugh, Prouvaire is the perfect sympathetic ear, Combeferre is almost as sympathetic with a certain amount of wisdom to boot...you shouldn't be avoiding us."

"Careful, Enjolras. You might fool me into thinking you give a damn about me."

"Ostensibly we're friends."

Grantaire smirked. "Ostensibly."

Enjolras sighed. "I'm trying. You don't make it easy, you know."

Grantaire felt a stab of indignation. And Enjolras did? The self-righteous do-gooder? The unapproachable marble god? "What in the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh come on. Yes, I'm a touch critical of your behavior," Enjolras had to stop for a second to be heard over the high pitched noise of derision that comment elicited from Grantaire. "However, you're hardly any better when it comes to me. In fact, with the way you're always complaining about everything I do, I'd even venture to say you might be worse. Just because I handle it better than you, it doesn't mean your mockery is any more pleasant than my disappointment. Besides that, I don't actually go out of my way to screw you over the way you do with me."

"I do not-"

"The fliers are only the most recent in a string of broken promises, Grantaire."

"If you really feel that way then why do you put up with me?" Grantaire demanded.

"It's not like you listen when I tell you to go away."

"Kind of like you tonight?"

"I suppose. How's it feel?" Enjolras snatched Grantaire's wrist and tugged it towards him. "Will you quit fidgeting? You're starting to make _me_ nervous."

"I can't exactly help it. For crissakes Enjolras, you're pretty terrible at trying to be a concerned friend, if that's even what this is. I think I prefer it when you berate me."

"I know I prefer it when you berate me. Grantaire...you're not going to hurt yourself, are you? You keep picking at those scratches."

Enjolras was still holding Grantaire's wrist. Grantaire tried to tug his arm back, but the jerk wouldn't let go. "I...no, it's not one of those days."

"But you have those days?"

Grantaire turned his head away and gave a slow nod. He gave a start at Enjolras' next words.

"I've had them too. I really wish you'd consider getting professional help. Now I'm going to worry."

"Sorry for the inconvenience."

"I know that was sarcasm, but really, you ought to be." Enjolras finally released him, then rose to his feet. "Well, if you're sure you're not going to hurt yourself and my presence is that much of an inconvenience, I suppose I ought to leave you to your self-pity. Besides that, I have some fliers to make. Sorry for intruding."

"No you're not."

Enjolras had almost been at the door, but he stopped and turned around. "You know, of all the things you say to get under my skin, that bothers me the most. When you doubt my sincerity or decide my feelings for me. I'm not sorry I stayed to check on you, but I am sorry I make you uncomfortable. I'm sorry we're not friends, Grantaire. We have so many in common, and they seem to benefit greatly from their social interactions with you. Whenever you disappear like this, you're missed. I wish you felt differently about me."

Grantaire could only muster an uncomprehending stare in response to such a frustrating example of Enjolras' obliviousness. The door had long since closed on the beautiful activist before Grantaire found his voice. "Huh. I'm out of my mind with love for the boy, and he wishes we were friends. I...can't even."

He turned the television back on and pulled the worn old blanket around his shoulders, settling in for the wait to see if his broken body would let him get some sleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently there was more to this one than I'd thought. Also written while at work during downtime.

Grantaire had known that there would be consequences, and accordingly was dreading them, for Enjolras seeing his moment of weakness. He wasn't quite sure what he'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't what he got.

Enjolras sicced his deputies on Grantaire and his mental illness, just like Grantaire was one of their foolish, innumerable causes. Suddenly, if Grantaire missed too many gatherings at the Musain he'd find himself with a houseguest checking up on him. When he drank too much, which was more often than not, he found himself with an escort home. And even when he was trying to mind his own business, a friend even _he_ felt guilty mouthing off to might appear at his elbow to inquire after his well-being.

Prouvaire was the absolute worst. Only a monster could tell Jean Prouvaire to go fuck himself, and Grantaire wasn't quite at the monster level of his downward spiral.

The only one who wasn't seeking Grantaire out was Enjolras himself, even though he was most certainly the one behind the sudden uptick in smothering concern. After a few weeks of their nagging, Grantaire started to lose his patience.

That Friday night, he walked into the back room of the Musain and took a look around. All of his friends were there, clustered into twos and threes as they discussed the issues of the day (in the case of Enjolras, Combeferre, and Feuilly), lamented the woes of student life (Joly, Bossuet, and Pontmercy), or the merits of the barista's ass (Bahorel and Courfeyrac). Prouvaire was sitting in the corner, contemplating the barista in a much more dreamy, romantic, and above all respectful manner than his friends.

Grantaire walked to the center of the room, glared each of his friends down, and loudly cleared his throat. Once their attention was on him he took his cell phone from his pocket, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it. The cracking sound was audible throughout the small space. "I'm not getting another one until you assholes stop intruding on my privacy. Yes, I've got depression. Yes, I struggle with it sometimes. That does _not_ give you the right to drag that struggle out of the private sanctuary of my home to shine a spotlight on it and make it one of your insipid 'causes.' I've got a system, and maybe it doesn't seem like a great one to you assholes, but it's kept me alive up until now and it's comfortable. So leave me the fuck alone about it unless I actually ask for help. Which, I fucking didn't."

Having delivered his speech, he turned on his heel and left the cafe, leaving the remnants of his cell phone behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw his friends turning an accusative glare Enjolras' way, but he didn't turn around to make sure.

* * *

After his outburst in the Musain, Grantaire's friends were more careful with him. It made him a bit pissy to notice, as he hadn't meant to make anyone guarded or uncomfortable, but on the plus side he got his personal space back. He almost even felt like he was as respected as any other member of their group...almost. He could still feel Enjolras' eyes on him, silently judging him and disapproving of all his life choices (though that might have been his paranoia speaking).

One night, he and Bahorel successfully prevailed upon their other friends to abandon the thought of productivity entirely and head to the Corinth instead of the Musain. Political discussion or productive demonstration planning was a near impossibility in the seedier haunt, and so the group succumbed to heavy drinking, attempts at flirting, and a few games of pool. Grantaire was feeling better than he had in weeks, though it looked like his improved mood wasn't shared with the group at large. The larger, louder, dirtier space tended to make Prouvaire nervous, so he'd retreated to a dark corner with an almost clean glass of wine and a Combeferre to refill that glass when needed, and to keep a comforting hand on his shoulder to steady his nerves. Predictably, Enjolras wasn't thrilled with their location either, but Grantaire was still too annoyed with him to care.

As the night wore on, some of the young men started to drift out. First Feuilly took his leave, complaining about an early shift in the morning. Once he made it socially acceptable to leave, Prouvaire and Combeferre were out the door, likely to head back to one of their respective apartments to make out, and likely thinking no one realized that that's what they did at least a few nights a week. Marius left to stalk his waif-like little jailbait, Joly had an anxiety attack when he saw the state of the men's room and had to be accompanied out by Bossuet, Courfeyrac disappeared with some cute little thing he'd been flirting it up with for half the night, and eventually it was just Enjolras, Bahorel, and Grantaire.

Enjolras was sitting at their table with a mostly untouched Shirley Temple and a depressing looking book on race relations, while Bahorel was trying to needle Grantaire into just one more game of pool. Grantaire was pretty sure he could have destroyed Bahorel at pool, as the guy was currently drunker than him, but he wasn't really in the mood. He was too distracted by Enjolras.

Why was he still there? He should have fled once Feuilly made it excusable, and yet there he was, lingering in an atmosphere he loathed, glaring at the least pleasant looking book Grantaire had ever seen while nursing a non-alcoholic drink. Why hadn't he gone home?

He was still contemplating Enjolras, when a sudden commotion by the bar made both of them jump. Enjolras turned his attention from his book and Grantaire turned his attention from Enjolras, and they both stared at the bar instead. A girl had just emptied her drink in Bahorel's face. Whatever he followed his crassness up with apparently didn't consist of an apology, because she slapped him before walking away. Grantaire pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an embarrassed groan. "Bahorel has _no_ game once he's downed a few too many."

"To be fair, it's not like his game is all that great even when he's sober," Enjolras muttered, cracking open his book once more. "His mouth works against him. If he worked out any less, his only romantic partner would be his hand."

Grantaire let out a surprised snort. "Enjolras, I don't think I've ever heard you say anything like that before."

Enjolras didn't answer. He looked at Grantaire over the brim of his book, amused and possibly a bit smug about the reaction he'd provoked, and then once more lowered his gaze to contemplations of human misery and how best to go about remedying it. Grantaire shrugged, and took another sip of his own drink before turning his attention once more to Bahorel.

Bahorel looked to be in good enough spirits over his rejection. He wiped his face off with some napkins provided by a slightly exasperated looking bartender, then ambled over to their table. He slid into the booth next to Grantaire and leaned heavily against him, reeking of the fruity chick drink he'd had thrown at him, as well as the somewhat stronger stuff he'd been drinking.

"R..." he put on an affected pout. "The pretty girls have all been bitches to me tonight."

"Happens to you kind of a lot, doesn't it? You'd think you'd be used to it by now," Grantaire said dismissively.

"I don't wanna go home alone tonight," he continued whining. "I wanna get laid."

"Is that what you lead with?" Enjolras asked. "Perhaps that's why the girl turned you down. I'm no expert here, but I believe you're supposed to feign an interest in her worth as an individual."

Bahorel scrunched his face up in distaste. "That is way too much work. Besides, she wasn't that pretty." Bahorel leaned further into Grantaire's space, knocking him back a bit as the brawler was a fair bit heavier than him, and somewhat lacking in coordination at this stage of his intoxication. "You're pretty enough though. Wanna come home with me tonight?"

Grantaire could feel his face heating up. Enjolras' attention had once more been pulled from his book, and it looked like there was some disapproval mixed in with his surprise. Grantaire couldn't help being embarrassed. Whereas he did sometimes sleep with some of his friends, he didn't necessarily want Enjolras to know about it. The guy had some kind of weird, antiquated moral code when it came to sexuality, which was pretty fucking weird for an LGBT rights advocate, but made so much sense once you got to know Enjolras that Grantaire never really questioned it. It's not like the guy was overtly judgmental (as long as everything going down was between consenting adults, anyway), but that might have been what made his disapproval sting so damn much. Enjolras set high standards for his own behavior, and Grantaire always felt like a selfish shit whenever he landed far below them.

At any rate, he didn't want Enjolras to think of him as a slut, even if Enjolras wasn't the kind of guy to slut-shame.

Bahorel seemed to be misinterpreting Grantaire's awkward silence. He slurred out some kind of messy sound that might have been a laugh and planted one of his massive hands on Grantaire's thigh. "Well, I mean you're not actually pretty at all, but you'll fucking do in a pinch. Usually do. C'mon, R. Let's go have some fun."

Keeping his eyes focused anywhere but on Enjolras, who was sitting _right fucking there_ , Grantaire pried Bahorel's hand off of him and shoved it away. "Not feeling it tonight. Sorry, dude."

"So what the fuck m'I supposed to do?"

"I don't fucking care, as long as you do it away from me. Jesus, no wonder that chick threw her drink in your face. You're really off your game tonight."

Bahorel sat up, giving Grantaire some personal space, but continued to pout at him. "C'mon, Grantaire. I thought we were friends."

"We are friends. I'm still not in the mood."

"For sex? I call bullshit. You've _never_ turned me down before."

If he weren't sitting on the side of the booth against the wall, he probably would have gotten up and run away right then and there. As is, all Grantaire could manage was to turn even redder as he shrunk down in his seat. He could feel Enjolras' eyes on him, even though he still wouldn't look up to confirm that the guy was staring at him. "Fucking hell, Bahorel. Can you let up?"

"Sorry. Guess I'll just go home and jerk off."

"Yeah, go do that."

Bahorel got up, wove a little on his feet, and then started for the door. Grantaire was severely tempted to dart out after him, but he was worried Bahorel would take that as an indication that he'd changed his mind, and so he let his uncoordinated friend make a head start.

"Do you think one of us should walk him home?" Enjolras asked. His tone was promisingly normal. Grantaire chanced a look up and, when he saw how calm Enjolras' expression was, decided that he wouldn't die on the spot if he tried talking to him.

"Nah. The guy only lives around the corner, and he's stumbled home in worse shape than that."

"If you're sure." Enjolras cast another wary glance after their departing friend, then returned his gaze to Grantaire. "I didn't know the two of you slept together. It's casual, I suppose?"

Grantaire couldn't force words past his suddenly constricted throat, so he only nodded.

Shit, why was this making him uncomfortable? His trysts with Bahorel, and the occasional hook up with Courfeyrac, had never bothered him before. Maybe Enjolras didn't slut-shame because he didn't _need_ to. Something about his prudishness just kind of caught ahold of you and forced depressingly antiquated Victorian value judgments into your mind.

Possibly the most uncomfortable silence Grantaire could remember settled between them. Usually, he had no problem leading a conversation into whatever direction he wanted it to go, but now, when he was positively aching to say _anything_ all his oratory skill had deserted him. He couldn't tell if Enjolras felt as awkward as he did; the guy's face was like stone. He wasn't reading his book anymore though, and after a few minutes he packed it up.

Grantaire excused himself to shuffle off to the bar and settle for the night. Enjolras did likewise, and next thing he knew, they were both standing outside the Corinth shrugging into their hoodies. "Are you walking home?" Enjolras asked. Still at a loss for actual speech, Grantaire nodded. "Would you like a ride? I'll be heading past your place anyway."

He bristled at that. "I'm perfectly capable of getting home on my own, Enjolras. If we'd needed a DD tonight, someone would have actually asked you."

"Um...I just wanted a chance to talk to you without all the others around."

Grantaire stupidly blinked a few times while he processed that. Enjolras continued. "I can tell when you're so drunk you need assistance and when you're not, you know. You only had a few beers tonight, which leads me to believe that there's a high likelihood you'll remember what I say to you in the morning."

"You're in a funny mood tonight."

Enjolras narrowed his eyes. "Do you want the ride home or do you want to walk?"

"I'll take the ride." He was too damned curious not to at this point.

Despite the professed reason for the ride being a desire for chitchat, Enjolras remained moodily silent for the duration of the drive. Grantaire was starting to feel petulant, so he didn't make any attempts at getting a conversation going. They wouldn't have had much time for a chat anyhow; considering the hour there wasn't any traffic, so the drive from the Corinth took about five minutes.

Grantaire nodded his thanks at Enjolras, then climbed out of the car and started fumbling in his pocket for his keys. To his surprise, Enjolras parked and then went to join him. Grantaire shot him a confused look. "So we're really going to talk then?"

"I'd still like to."

"You had a funny way of showing it in the car."

Enjolras frowned at him, and Grantaire felt a smidge of repentance for his petulance. "Are you going to let me come upstairs with you or not?"

"You can come hang out if you want," Grantaire said. Ostensibly, all his friends were welcome to chill at his apartment whenever they wanted, but Enjolras rarely took him up on the offer. In fact, Grantaire had only seen Enjolras set foot in his apartment to yell at him about something or other, like he had the other week over the stupid flyers.

Still, Enjolras followed him up the creaky stairs to his third floor apartment. A look of what might have been relief flashed across his charming features when he took in the state of the front room. It was tidy, or as tidy as Grantaire's living space ever got. The number of empty bottles on surfaces was at a minimum, his coffee table being crowded with sketchpads, books, and other signs of productivity instead. His Power Rangers blanket was neatly folded and draped over the back of the futon, and the DVDs crowded around the TV were in organized stacks.

Grantaire saw the approval on Enjolras' face and felt a bit defensive. "The last time you were here I was in the bad part of a cycle. I'm not always such a pig, you know."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

Enjolras sighed. "I was _thinking_ that I'm glad you're in a better part of your cycle. I'm not completely ignorant about depression, Grantaire. Part of the reason I wanted to talk to you was to apologize about my attempt to help you. I didn't mean for it to feel as invasive as it did."

Grantaire puzzled over that for a second, not sure how to respond. Because really, how could having a crowd of guys flooding into and out of your life unexpectedly feel anything other than invasive, especially when their sole purpose in being there was to police your emotions and their manifestations? But Enjolras didn't think like other people, and frankly, neither did Grantaire.

He locked the door up behind them, kicked his worn out sneakers off, and flopped onto the futon. When Enjolras made no move to follow, he patted the spot next to him. "Don't hover by the door while we talk. It's awkward."

"Alright then." Enjolras sat down next to him, but he couldn't have been more obvious about his discomfort. He even started drumming his fingers nervously against his leg.

Grantaire laughed. "I'm not going to bite you."

"You might bite my head off," Enjolras returned. "There doesn't seem to be a thing I can say to you lately that won't have you snapping at me. I'd...I'd like to remedy that somehow, but I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong."

"Curiouser and curiouser." It took Grantaire a moment to realize he'd said that out loud. Maybe he actually was a little drunk. "Sorry. I just had no idea you gave a crap about what I think."

"You're my friend, Grantaire. Of course I care what you think. Just because I so rarely agree with you doesn't mean I don't care. I like getting your perspective on things. You keep us from being an echo chamber."

"So you do understand the value of a dissenting voice. That's good to hear. Refreshing, even." Grantaire snapped his gaze down to his nervously wringing hands. "Sorry. I'm rambling."

"No, I'm sorry. I've noticed that I make you nervous when we're alone. I don't mean to. And I am sorry about...about last week. I was honestly just really worried about you, and since you don't trust me enough to talk to me I figured asking our friends to look in on you would work out better. Clearly I was entirely wrong about that."

"I wouldn't have minded if you'd just, like, sent a text or dropped by once or twice. Having all the guys take turns like that made me jumpy and paranoid. It kicked everything into high gear and made it worse. But, like, a 'how are you' text every once and a while wouldn't hurt. Actually, I think I'd kinda like it if you were thinking of me." God, he needed to shut the fuck up. Grantaire could feel his face heating up.

"Oh. Well in that case, I do think about you rather a lot." Enjolras' voice sounded tight, like he was having a difficult time admitting that.

Grantaire badly wanted to look up, to try to make eye contact and better puzzle Enjolras out, but he was afraid of giving Enjolras the same opportunity in turn. He didn't want the guy to see the naked longing on his face, so he kept his gaze on his hands instead. "You really don't have to bullshit me, Enj. I only caught your notice because you were scared I was going to hurt myself. If I weren't fucking sick, if I were just the annoying shit you've always thought me, then you would try your best not to think of me at all."

"That's not true."

"C'mon, your life would be a million times easier without me trudging along after you and your band of merry radicals bringing down all your idealism with my world weary practicality."

"For starters," Enjolras said, "Pessimism and practicality aren't interchangeable terms. And secondly, I've just said that your opinion is valuable. We generally agree with each other, so having an opposing view helps us challenge our preconceived ideas and helps us grow. Our meetings got better when you joined, 'Taire. And besides that, we like you. I genuinely enjoy your company."

"No you don't."

Enjolras went so far as to grab Grantaire's shoulder and give it a shake. Grantaire couldn't help but look at him then, and as expected, he saw nothing but annoyance and anger in the cherished blue gaze. "You know I hate when you do that. You don't get to define my feelings for you through your own damaged self-esteem and bleak world view. You don't get to tell me how I feel."

"Fine," Grantaire snapped, petulance returning. "Then why don't you tell me how you feel?"

"I'm trying, dammit." Enjolras sighed, and frustratedly scrubbed a hand through his perfect blond hair. It was still perfect when he'd finished, though a similar move from Grantaire would have sent his own hair flying in absurd directions. But not Enjolras. Muss that hair and it only looked charming in a different fashion from its charming smoothness.

"Enjolras, why are you really here? You could have delivered that apology hours ago."

"I know. There's more. I've been trying to have this conversation for weeks, but I always mess it up. And besides that, I don't think there's a way for me to say it that you would possibly accept."

"Oh? Try me." Disputing Enjolras' claims was comfortable territory. He could use something familiar to ground him in what had become an otherwise baffling conversation.

Of course, nothing was easy with Enjolras.

"I like you," Enjolras said, annihilating the small bit of comfortable ground Grantaire had thought he'd gained in the process. "A lot, actually, and I think I panicked a little earlier when Bahorel was propositioning you. I'm sorry if I was being cold, or rude, or anything like that. I wasn't trying to be judgmental. I was actually trying to be really careful about what I said so I wouldn't sound like a jealous fool."

Actually, Grantaire had been surprised by the lack of judgment from his prudish friend. "Fuck. Nothing makes sense tonight. Wait, what the fuck are you saying?" Grantaire gaped at him uncomprehendingly. "You just said you were jealous of Bahorel. Does that mean you want to sleep with me?"

At least Enjolras looked as confused as he did. His slender honey brows were knit together, and his lips were slightly parted as he mutely returned Grantaire's identically puzzled (though less handsome, he was sure) stare. "Um..." he finally stuttered out. "Yes, actually."

Grantaire gaped at him. "Really? Are you sure? I mean... _me_?" Their friends weren't solely devoted to promoting LGBT rights, but they did do a lot of work on LGBT issues an as such, a lot of folks they bumped into identified somewhere in the rainbow community. Enjolras wasn't exactly in a dearth regarding potential partners. Why in the fuck would he settle for the obvious train wreck of the group? Grantaire was sure he looked just as damaged as he was, and he honestly couldn't tell what could be at all enticing about an underweight, hobbit-haired, dead eyed alcoholic to the manifestation of human perfection sitting next to him.

Hell, if he was just after a hookup, his conversation with Bahorel had revealed that the brawler was also into friends with bennies arrangements, and Bahorel was much better looking than Grantaire. At least he stayed in shape for the sake of his fist fights.

"I-I like you," Enjolras repeated, sounding flustered. "I knew you weren't going to believe me."

"Well can you blame me? I mean, I mean fuck. Just look at you. Why in the hell would you want to sleep with me? I'm a fucking human stain. You're everything. You're aware of that, aren't you? That you can have any guy you want? No one in their right mind would say no to a guy like you."

Enjolras smirked. "Well then. Are you in your right mind, Grantaire?"

"Huh?"

And then Enjolras leaned forward and kissed him. It was actually a pretty awful kiss, but Grantaire wasn't in any kind of state to give a commentary. Enjorlas was very clearly nervous, and likely expecting to be pushed away. Still, even though it was pretty obvious he had no idea what he was doing, he stuck with it, and shifted closer to Grantaire on the futon. Once Grantaire's brain caught up with him, he returned the kiss and Enjolras let out a relieved sounding sigh as he ceded control.

God, but he smelled nice. He took care of himself, so that probably had something to do with it. Whatever products he was using, his aftershave or lotion or whatever, it smelled really, really good. Like some kind of spicy musk with a sweetness to balance. Grantaire could get used to breathing that in. He could get used to mussing the perfect golden hair with his flawed, stubby fingers. He could really get used to the sensation of Enjolras' lips parting against him, and the sweet little noises he made as Grantaire sucked on his lower lip, and teased their tongues together. God, he could really get used to that low little whimper.

Enjolras sighed against his mouth, and pulled away just enough to speak. His eyes were half-lidded, soft blond lashes looking absurdly delicate framing his hard blue eyes. "I knew you'd be good at that."

Grantaire smirked. "I'm actually good for something after all, huh?"

"Please don't throw my words back at me now." Enjolras surprised him once more by climbing onto his lap and wrapping his arms around Grantaire's neck. "At the moment, the last thing I want to do is fight with you."

Grantaire decided against looking this particular gift horse in the mouth, and went back to kissing Enjolras.

He tried his damndest to enjoy it. After all, there wasn't any reason he shouldn't. Hadn't he been fantasizing about this since the moment he'd first met his beautiful slab of marble? He dreamed of this at least a few times a week, nightly when he was being particularly pathetic and fixated. He loved Enjolras so much it pained him. He should have felt euphorically happy.

But in those dreams, Enjolras hadn't sought him out for a quick, friendly fuck. He hadn't overheard him talking about friends with benefits arrangements in a dive, and dream-Enjolras had never propositioned him based on any such overheard conversation. He'd confessed secret, cherished feelings similar to the consuming ache that Grantaire felt. That's how he could always tell it was a dream, no matter how realistic. Enjolras might like him, for some inscrutable reason, but he was too good to love someone like Grantaire. That part was always going to remain a fantasy.

Suddenly, the kisses that had been exciting him mere moments before felt like a mockery. In fact, Grantaire almost felt like crying. He settled his hands on Enjolras' waist and broke the kiss. "Stop. Enjolras, stop this. Get off of me." He started to push Enjolras off of his lap, but Enjolras dug his heels against the floorboards and clamped his hands down on Grantaire's shoulders. He was stronger, so Grantaire wasn't able to move him an inch.

"Why? What did I do wrong? I'll fix it, whatever it is. I've never really done this before, so you'll just need to help me along a little. Was that too much tongue?"

This was getting absurd. Enjolras should not be asking him for makeout techniques. "That wasn't it. The tongue was fine-" Actually, it was really nice.

"Then what's the matter?" Enjolras trailed a hand down the side of his face, and Grantaire flinched at the caress. "'Taire, talk to me. What am I doing wrong?"

"Nothing," Grantaire spat. "You're perfect, like always. It's me. I can't do this."

Enjolras' face fell. "But you can with Bahorel?"

"It's...it's different with him." Grantaire tried once more, feebly, to move Enjolras from his lap. "This isn't the kind of thing I can do with someone like you."

"Oh. I...I'm sorry then." Enjolras scrambled off of him and climbed to his feet. Thankful at having his personal space again, Grantaire curled in on himself a little and dropped his gaze. He could hear Enjolras breathing a bit shallower and quicker than usual, but he assumed that it was related to the making out. Even though he himself was breathing comfortably.

Enjolras' voice shook a little as he edged towards the door. "I'm, I'm really sorry. I...I guess I misjudged the situation. I'll just leave you alone. I've troubled you enough tonight."

Grantaire nodded.

"Goodnight, Grantaire."

"Yeah, bye."

Grantaire only dared look up again once he heard the door close, and Enjolras' careful tread as he made his way towards the creaky staircase. Once the last creak faded, he curled up on himself, then reached out an arm to feebly drag the Power Rangers blanket from the back of the futon.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's probably one more chapter in this one. Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

Grantaire didn’t stay under the Power Rangers blanket for very long. He wanted to drink. He felt like shit, and the thought of shutting his brain the fuck up had become exceptionally tempting. However, his kitchen no longer contained the means to get him properly shitfaced, so he’d have to face the world for at least twenty minutes or so before insulating himself from it with a flood of cheap, horrid, but effective alcohol.

On went the ratty sneakers and hoodie, and out into the night Grantaire went. He started down the sidewalk in the direction of a liquor store that kept depressed-alcoholic friendly hours, and was nearly halfway down the street before he noticed the headlights following him. Grantaire snapped around, and scowled when he saw Enjolras’ car pulling up beside him.

The window slid down and there Enjolras was, looking unusually shaky and more than a little rattled (but still utterly perfect in his discomposure). Grantaire must have been seeing things, because it looked like Enjolras had been crying. But Enjolras was the fiery avatar of all things bad ass. The kid probably didn’t even _have_ tear ducts.

“’Taire?” Shit. His voice sounded shaky too. What the fuck was going on? “’Tare, where are you going? It’s so late, and it’s cold. Do you need a ride somewhere?”

“I’m fine. I need the walk to clear my head.”

“Are you sure? It’s just, it's really cold to be walking around by yourself. I promise I won’t say or do anything inappropriate.”

Grantare smirked at that. “Enjolras, I promise, you are absolutely the last person on earth I would worry about being molested by.”

“Oh. But just now…”

“For fuck’s sake,” he grumbled under his breath. Grantaire got into the car and angrily buckled his seatbelt. Enjolras eyed him warily, like he didn’t quite understand what was going on.

“Um…where were you going?”

“Dunno,” Grantaire lied, not feeling overeager to divulge the fact that he’d been planning on losing himself in a bottle, though the confession couldn’t possibly surprise his companion. “It was a head clearing walk. Those sorts of things are rambling and aimless.”

“I’m sorry. I keep messing up your night.” Enjolras rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight in a grimace. He looked frustrated, but on the plus side the unsteadiness and sense of defeat that had been clinging to him was starting to dissipate in favor of the more familiar look of dissatisfaction with the state of things. Grantaire found the sight of his friend looking upset in that particular way much more familiar and thus a touch comforting.

“It’s okay, Enjolras. Maybe we should talk. I, uh, I didn’t mean to upset you. That was part of the point in…in putting a stop to, uh… _that_.”

Enjolras actually scoffed. Grantaire quirked an eyebrow. “Really?”

“You have no right to be incredulous,” Enjolras snapped. “Did I give you the impression that I was at all unhappy being kissed by you? I’m pretty sure I conveyed my feelings for what they were, and if that’s the case then how would it spare my feelings at all to tell me you’d rather make out with Bahorel? How is that not a slap in the face? I mean, not to slight Bahorel in any way. I’m sure he’s better at that sort of thing than me, and it’s obvious you like him more than me, but I’d still hoped…”

Grantaire blinked a few times and rubbed at his eyes. “Wait, what? Enjolras, I don’t like Bahorel more than you. I mean, as a drinking buddy, sure, you outright suck as a drinking buddy with your Shirley Temples and your judgment and your scary looking books, but for just about anything else you are the person I most want to be with. Uh, I mean…” Shit, how was he supposed to backpedal from that?

Enjolras’ brows knit together, and he looked particularly scary as he contemplated the cowering figure in the seat beside him. “Grantaire, I told you I liked you. How did you interpret that?”

“I…I don’t really know.” Grantaire closed his eyes, and licked suddenly dry lips. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense. I think I’d have been less surprised if I’d heard you say you liked Rush Limbaugh.”

“Ah…” Well something seemed to make sense to Enjolras, at least. Grantaire still felt like he was grasping at straws, but Enjolras looked satisfied about something. “I came at this all wrong. I shouldn’t have…of course you wouldn’t really hear me when I said it the first time.”

“I heard you. You don’t hate me,” Grantaire said. “I mean, I’m still probably going to convince myself that you do hate me and that I’d make your life easier if I didn’t tag along to meetings and activist pursuits and stuff, but I’ll try to remember that for some inscrutable reason you consider me a friend anyway, even though I’m, well, _me_ …and I’ll show up anyway.” Grantaire started fidgeting with the zipper of his hoodie. He would rather have flicked his lighter on and off, but he assumed that would annoy Enjolras.

Then Enjolras clasped Grantaire's hands in his. “I do value your friendship, but that wasn’t what I was talking about. Grantaire, I…” He cleared his throat and tried again. “I _like_ you. I’d use another l word there, but considering your reactions so far I’m inclined to believe it wouldn’t go well. I’ve been entertaining distracting and increasingly ridiculous romantic fantasies regarding you for the past few months, and I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with these feelings in light of the fact that I’d…I’d thought you hated me.”

“Really?” Grantaire snapped his head up, and then found himself staring right back at his hands, or more accurately, at Enjolras’ hands covering his, because looking at Enjolras dead on like that, when he was sitting so close and looking at him so intently was going to destroy him (the fact that he still sounded like he'd swallowed a thesaurus while declaring his thoroughly baffling feelings was already destroying him a little). “How could I hate you? You’re everything. You’ve got all this purpose, and you see the world and you want to help it along and you see the shit too, but you’re not overwhelmed by it and you’re just…you’re perfect. I wish I had the guts to be even half the man you are instead of the pathetic wreck I am.”

“You’re not pathetic,” Enjolras insisted. He gave Grantaire’s hands a little shake, and Grantaire tried once more to look at him. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Enjolras wasn’t looking down on him and his weakness; he was looking _at_ him and meeting him with compassion. “You’re not. You’re having a hard time, and that’s okay. It’s okay to lean on people who care about you when you get like that. And I care for you so much, ‘Taire. I want to be here for you. I really want to be the one to help you.”

“But…why? You shouldn’t need to…fuck, but you don’t deserve to be saddled with me.” Even if that’s really what he wanted.

“Grantaire, I promise you, I will be much worse off without you than with. Lately I can’t go a day without thinking about you, worrying about you, wanting to see you and hear you make some kind of awful joke at my expense. I keep thinking over all the things I say to you and worry about how you might be taking them. I’d like the luxury of being able to show up on your doorstep and tell you that you’re twisting my words into something they’re not meant to be. But right now I’d really like the luxury of being able to kiss you again.”

Grantaire released a shaky breath. He slowly slid his thumb over the side of Enjolras’ hand. “I thought…I mean, when you asked about me and Bahorel…I thought you just wanted to do a friends with benefits thing too. And I could never do that with you. It’d destroy me, to try to be casual about you because there is _nothing_ casual about the way I feel about you.”

To his great surprise, Enjolras actually faintly blushed at that. “I’m such an idiot. I could have worded everything better, couldn’t I? I just truly have no idea how to tell you these things.”

“What things,” Grantaire asked, a small and uncharacteristically hopeful smile forming on his lips.

“Well, the feelings for one,” Enjolras started, flustered. “And, honestly…I would have settled for friends with benefits. I would have settled for anything you were willing to give me, because I’ve been going mad thinking about you and any kind of affection could only help.”

“Anything I was willing to give you,” Grantaire repeated in wonder. “Enjolras, I am _not_ the deciding factor here. You have complete power over me, just so you know.”

Enjolras laughed. “If that were the case, you’d be a devout radical picketing the state house with the most beautifully crafted protest signs anyone had ever seen. No, part of the reason I love you so much is because I have _no_ power over you. You’re so thoroughly your own person that I can’t sway you. I don’t have to worry about changing you at your core. And when you’re not at the poisonous part of your cycle, I don’t even have to watch my words or be on eggshells. I can be myself, and you’ll be you, the other side of my coin, and that’s the most comforting thought I’ve ever had.”

“You…have an awful lot of faith in me,” Grantaire mumbled, embarrassment starting to overcome his incredulity and surprise.

“I do. I believe in you, Grantaire.”

Well, considering Enjolras was the only thing _he_ believed in, it was starting to look like Grantaire ought to believe in himself.

Grantaire hesitantly, carefully twined their fingers together, watching as Enjolras’ slenderer, but powerful fingers neatly slotted against his. He found that he was still smiling, and that the knot of tension he’d been carrying for most of the night was starting to unwind.

He was happy. He could see this happening. He could believe in this.

“I love you too, by the way,” he whispered.

Enjolras’ smile was broader and more expressive than his, but they were still firmly on the same page.

* * *

The next night when the friends showed up at the Musain for their usual codependent get-together, everyone noticed a change in Grantaire. No one commented on it, but the difference was present and palpable.

It manifested partially as a really charming glow. He was relaxed, smiling more readily and easily, and even though he was still obviously tired and malnourished and his skin was still bad and his hair unkempt, there was something oddly attractive about him that hadn’t been present just the previous night. Courfeyrac and Bahorel each quietly asked him if he was doing anything after the meeting without bothering to wait to see if they could score something better. Both were more than a little annoyed when they were turned down.

Enjolras was the last to arrive, having stayed at school late to attend a guest lecture. He walked past an empty chair between Courfeyrac and Combeferre that had ostensibly been kept for him and instead sat down next to Grantaire. Their eyes were exclusively on each other from the moment Enjolras had walked through the door, and the identical, expressive smiles they wore were enough to clue their close friends into the change in the nature of their relationship. Even if that weren't the case, Grantaire snagged Enjolras' hand as soon as it was free of the books he'd been carrying.

"Oh. Well good for you guys," Bahorel said. He saluted the new couple with his microbrew.

Enjolras finally looked away from his new boyfriend to throw a confused frown Bahorel's way. "Excuse me?"

"You guys are a thing now," Bahorel said, somewhat patronizingly. "I'll stop hooking up with your boyfriend."

"That wasn't actually going to be a problem," Grantaire said, rolling his eyes.

"When did you two sort things out?" Joly asked.

Enjolras' eyes narrowed as he looked around the table. "Are any of you surprised?" His question, which had been asked in seriousness, was answered with laughter. At least Grantaire looked as startled by their friends' behavior as Enjolras was.

"I hadn't realized this was such a forgone conclusion," Grantaire mumbled. He stroked his thumb along the palm of Enjolras' hand, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Yeah, you two were the last ones to figure that out," Bossuet said. He gave a quick nod in Grantaire and Enjolras' direction, then turned towards Combeferre and Jehan. "So, speaking of painfully obvious couples...are you guys still pretending you're not dating, or is everyone allowed to know yet?"

Jehan squeaked out something that was almost a word, while Combeferre glowered at them. "We haven't been _hiding_..."

"That's certainly true," Joly said. He and Bossuet started giggling.

Feuilly looked around the table, ticked the couples off on his hand, and frowned. "We have to get Marius to start coming to these things again. More than half the group are couples now."

"Mm...I think that means we're required to become a polyamorous relationship," Courfeyrac said with a nod towards Feuilly and Bahorel. "Or at least have a threesome."

"I'd do a threesome," Bahorel said.

Feuilly edged his chair away from them. "Keep your pervy hands off of me."

The night went on nearly as usual from there, with subtle differences. Grantaire was less abrasive when he introduced his ideas into conversation, and if he was quiet too long then a dazed expression would come over him as he glanced admiringly at his new boyfriend. Enjolras was pretty much the same as he always was, only his hand kept straying to Grantaire, whether to clasp his under the table or gently stroke against his back. Jehan and Combeferre, now that they'd been called out, were also more visible in their affection towards each other. Jehan rested his head on Combeferre's shoulder and referred to him with antiquated little petnames for the rest of the night, while Combeferre kept an arm around him and was completely unrestrained with his affectionate smiles.

At the end of the night, the couples strayed out of the cafe together. Grantaire clambered into the passenger side of Enjolras' car. Considering he lived around the corner, the others inferred that he was spending the night at his boyfriend's house.

Courfeyrac grinned as he watched them drive off. "I'm so happy for my stupid babies."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap :) As always, please let me know if you liked it! Feedback makes me smile.


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